


Hunters In Space

by ffrindyddraig



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, If anyone seems out of character they probably are, This is a mess with a lack of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffrindyddraig/pseuds/ffrindyddraig
Summary: Dean and Sam end up on the Enterprise-D. Worf growls, Riker plays poker and Picard just wants a cup of Earl Grey damn it.





	Hunters In Space

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to blame this crossover that nobody asked for, nor in fact wants, on the fact I was stuck on a train for five days with no one who could speak my language, but, alas, I can't blame the Ruskies for this one - the thought Sam talking to Guinan had been stalking me for weeks before.  
> If you are looking for plot, look away now. Really this is just 17,000 words of ramblings thrown together and put as a story. Also the reason for Sam and Dean to be on the Enterprise is really lame, and how they get back home. Just warning you.   
> Set in season 4 for TNG between episode 8 "Future Imperfect" and episode 9 "Final Mission", and set in season 7 of Supernatural somewhere between episode 10 "Death's Door" and episode 17 "The Born-Again Identity". Also this ignores canon after s7e17.  
> I own nothing and all mistakes are my own.

There was an unspoken rule in Starfleet : if something was going to happen, it would happen to the _Enterprise._ And it's Captain, Jean-Luc Picard, would not have it any other way. One, after all, did not sign up to explore unknown space, to be the first to step on a distant planet and breath the new air, meet the strange inhabitants, without a need for excitement and danger.

But, as Captain Picard strode down the corridor to the holding cell, body and mind exhausted from an eight hour bridge shift followed by the two hour Starfleet report writing, his chief security officer flanking him with a frown on his face, he could not help but wish he at least had time to finish his cup of earl grey. He'd only just replicated it, his bed looking like heaven, a new detective novel on the crisp sheets, when his COMM badge beeped, signalling an incoming message and the end of his plans for a relaxing evening. For one brief, unprofessional minute, he wanted to ignore it, wait for them to come and find him, feigning ignorance of their calls but, alas, a captain could not shirk his responsibilities for something as small as exhaustion.

From there it had gone from unknown readings in Lieutenant Commander Data's quarters to intruders on the _Enterprise_ to one of those said intruders going to sickbay and the other to the brig. They were human - though the one in sickbay, not there because of the confrontation with the security team but rather whatever mode of transport they took had left him collapsed on the floor, had an unknown anomaly in his blood which left Doctor Crusher scratching her head - but a thorough scan of the room had given them no more clues on how they came to be on his ship. The man in the brig was confined there instead of at his companions side in sickbay due to his dangerous nature : he had come out swinging, knife aimed straight at Worf's heart. For a man who owned a  frankly disturbing amount of weapons - and Picard had only seen handguns like that in museums - he was easily taken out by a phaser.

As Picard reached the door he gave a curt nod to the security officer stationed outside. It slid open, and him and Worf stepped through. The man in the cell lurched forward as he saw them, his fists hitting the force field, bloody murder in his eyes. He hissed out in pain but his hands stayed in close fists at his side, so tight his skin was white, the tendons standing out. Physically he was imposing : six foot and muscular, the kind built up to fight. Picard, while a brawler in his unwise youth, knew he would not stand a chance against the man loose, and was thankful for the field separating them.   

"Where's Sam, you sons of bitches?" The man snarled, emerald eyes glinting like a knife.

"He's in sickbay." Picard said assuming 'Sam' was the man who came through with him. He spoke calmly not wanting the man to wind himself up any further. They need answers from him that he would no doubt be unwilling to give. But his words had the opposite effect on the prisoner. He paled for a second, before smashing the force field again like his fists alone could bust it open. Yellow waves ripped across the surface, distorting the figure but not hiding the eyes that had somehow got darker.

"If you've laid so much as a finger on him, I'll kill you." His cold tone sent a shiver down the Captain's spine; the man meant every word of it. Any thought of reasoning with this man was slowly slipping away. If he gave no answers, they would have to hope his companion was more talkative, but from his own scars and weapons, Picard doubted it.

"He was out when we found him." Which the man no doubt saw, but he still snorted dismissively. Maybe he did not need an excuse to kill them at all. His eyes looked past Picard, taking in Worf for the first time, eyes growing wide as they reached his forehead.

"What kind of fugly is _that_?" For the first time the man sounded unsure, his dangerous front not quite covering it all. Straightening his back ramrod straight, Worf threw his head back and bared his fangs.

"I am a klingon."

"Never heard of you." He sounded curious, the unease growing. They had found a chink in his armour, though how he had never even heard of the klingons before was a mystery. He turned to Picard, eyebrow raised. "You have a habit of keeping monsters around?"

Worf did not help the man's assessment by stepping closer to the field and growling deep in his throat. The floor seemed to shake with the low timbre and a man with any sense would flee. The prisoner just smirked, seemingly unimpressed.

"You should keep him on a leash." Before Worf could lower the force field and pounce, sending him to join his companion in sickbay (and Picard wondered if that was the prisoner's plan), the captain held up a hand.

"Enough." He said, voice infused with every hard earned layer of command. Worf straightened and, interestingly, so did the prisoner. Military training? It was gone so quickly someone less observant would of missed it, replaced by annoyance. "I do not have the time and the patients for this! Tell me what you are doing here." He spoke sharper than he intended, but his earl grey was cold, and he had enough.

"Look buddy, I don't even know where here is. All I want is to get my brother and get the hell out of here."

Brother? While Picard had never been close to his own, he understood the bonds with family could leave a dangerous protective streak in humans. He filed away for later use before raising an eyebrow at the rest of his statement. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe." He said, dismissively.

"You should : I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard, this ship is mine, and you and your brother's fate is in my hands."

The man froze. "We're on a boat?"

He honestly seemed confused, and for a moment he did not seem like an unknown threat hell bent on destroying his ship (and his sanity at the same time) but rather a lost traveller, desperately trying to stay in control as he finds himself descending into a ever down spiral. "The _U.S.S. Enterprise_."

The frown grew, and the calloused hands uncurled from their fists for the first time to tug through his short blond hair. "We were nowhere near the sea." He muttered, more to himself than them, but the Starfleet officers still heard it, and exchanged a glance. All pretence was lost, the anger which chilled Picard's soul when he saw it changed to unease, fear. It was not any less dangerous, the look of a trapped animal, unpredictable and desperate. He crowded closer to the field, millimetres away from being shocked. "What?"

"What is the last thing you remember?" Picard asked it carefully, aware anything could set him off. He may not be able to hurt them, but he could harm himself. He could see the debate going on in his eyes, finally grudgingly setting on the truth.

"On a case in Eutaw, Alabama."

"Earth?" Picard clarified. If he had a hairline, his eyebrow would of reached it. Nothing could transport someone that far.

"Where else could it be?" He twitched, and for a second Picard thought he would try and hit the field again. The man was itching to move, no doubt to attack something. Either this man was an exceptional liar, or this was worse than they first thought. Keeping this man in the dark would not solve anything. He took a deep breath.

"We are currently in Sector 25712 - over 250 light years away from Earth."

The man huffed out a laugh, before catching sight of his serious face. He took a step back. "You're serious?" He shook his head. "No way are we in space, on a spaceship. Dude, that's freaking _awesome_."

The dangerous glint in his eyes had gone, replaced into one of pure excitement, the wary too old look transforming into ones filled with childish delight. Before Picard could ask more - it seemed like he had finally managed to get through to the strange man - his COMM. badge beeped. He pressed it, turning away slightly from the prisoner who was mouthing another _awesome_ , as he answered it with a "Picard here".

"It's safe for the patient to be woken up." While Picard loved hearing his chief medical officer's voice, he cursed his previous order of her telling him the moment it was safe to do so. All wonder in the prisoner's eyes faded, replaced by that same deadly protectiveness. Picard stepped away too late.

"Is that Sam? You gotta let me be there." He was ignored and another punch was sent against the field.

"We're getting nothing down here. I'll be right up. Picard out."

He turned to the door, Worf on his heels in case this Sam was as violent as his brother. Their prisoner, seeing them leave, smashed the field again, this time his skin splitting against the onslaught. Red smeared on the invisible wall, causing it to flicker yellow. Any thoughts for himself had flown out the window. It left him dangerous, unpredictable. It left him the concerned older brother Picard dreamed of in childhood.

"Hey. _Hey._ Is it Sam? I've gotta be there. He'll freak without me there. Hey." His voice got angrier, the volume increasing, the closer Picard moved to the door. " _Please._ "

He froze, turning back to look at the prisoner. This man - and Picard realised he never found the man's name, only the prisoner, the intruder, Sam's brother, the last one fitting like that's how he saw himself first too - was not one to beg. Threats, definitely, maybe even following through with them, but pleads seemed out of his comfort zone. There was a rawness in his eyes, his voice, his posture, and as their eyes met it was nearly enough to make the hardened Captain step back. He knew the man would not ask it again, and the doubt of truth - his job made a positive outlook hard to keep - was cast away. If nothing else, he really did care for his brother.

"Just let me see him." He pounced on Picard's hesitation. "I'll tell you everything I know. Just he's my _brother_."  So much was pushed into that one word. Everything Picard's own family never came close to, even after he went home and a fallen tree replaced the burned bridges. He glanced at Worf, and if he felt any connection with the man's pleas - perhaps like him he was thinking about his own brothers, both human and klingon, blood and water connected to his heart - he showed nothing. A warrior first.

"Let him out." Klingon's mouths did not drop open in shock, but if they did, he suspected Worf's jaw would be on the floor.

"Captain - " His security officer began, concern deep in his voice, objections on the tip of his tongue. Picard held up a hand. He did not need to be told this was foolish, he already knew, but if this is what it took to get them to cooperate, well one didn't become a captain by playing it safe.

"Let him out Lieutenant." The look on the prisoner's face was a mix of gratitude, relief and weariness. Slow to trust, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth and see the soldiers he was sure would be inside. Knowing platitudes would not help the man, Picard stayed silent.

"One wrong move and I will shoot." Worf warned, lifting his phaser up, making no effort to hide his displeasure, but still following the order.

"Don't worry, I won't steal your chew toy." Teeth was bared at that smirking face (but Picard could still see the anxiety there, the man not able to completely put back together that mask now it shattered) and if this was a klingon ship, the man would no doubt be shot as Worf defended his already tattered honour. But, on the _Enterprise_ , he just glared, no doubt making plans that if the prisoner did try anything - which would not happen until after he saw his brother, Picard was sure of that - the take down will be rougher than usual.

The force field was lowered and the man swaggered out, his pace not even slowing as the gun was pressed to the small of his back. He took it like it was completely normal for him to be lead around like this - and not on the stun setting either. It was clear the prisoner was not going to waste a second, and while Picard did not want the man to think he was any way in control, he wanted this mystery to be unravelled, the sooner the better.

As they entered the corridor the man looked at him, eyebrow raised. Their strides were long and matching, the march of the army. "No handcuffs?" He asked.

"This ship has the best security systems, and team, in the fleet." Worf said, proudly. Picard had heard many complaints from the officers (not to his face, of course) at how much his chief trained them, and while he suspected some of the increase was to do with the new Vulcan chief who Worf seemed to have a (one sided)  rivalry with on about who can train the best force, he did not mind seeing as their responses were becoming faster, shots more accurate and generally being better than the standard expected of them.

"So how did we get on board then?" He smirked. Worf nudged him forward with the gun, a reminder. All he got in return was an "easy boy" like the man refused to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation he was in.

"So," the man began as they stepped into the turbo lift after Picard called out the floor, seemingly unable to keep quiet, wide eyes taking in everything. "This is the future. The real future, not some grim apocalypse where Sam's being worn to the prom."

"You've travelled in time before?" Picard asked, not even trying to work out the rest of the man's statement. He could already feel a headache coming on and he'd like to keep it at bay for as long as possible, preferably until this mess was sorted.

"Yeah, a couple of times. Angels love using their mojo to fling me around."

Picard could not, for one moment, entertain the possibility of angels. From all he had seen the man being from the past was not an impossibility - in fact he had already began to suspect so, and all the man's statement did was confirm this belief - but the heavenly hosts was a bit farfetched even for him. Most likely the beings the man were referring to were aliens, masquerading as them.

"Are they why you're here now?"

The man snorted. "If only. Last thing I remember is picking up a damn watch."

Even talking - and the whole tight lipped act seemed to fall away now he was visiting his brother and, for him at least, why he was here was beginning to make sense - left Picard feeling like he was missing something. But the man was telling the truth, at least how he saw it. Nobody would make up a nonsensical story like this. While the man was dangerous, he was not a threat to the ship. He clearly had no plans to take it over, or try and destroy it. As the man said, all he wanted was to get his brother and get back to Eutaw.

The lift opened, and they marched into sickbay. The moment the man saw Sam, the rest of the world seemed to drop away, and he lurched forward like he hadn't seen him in years rather than hours. Only Picard's hand stopped him being shot down, and the captain found himself biting back his own 'easy boy' to Worf. The man pressed in close to his brother - who if not in sickbay, eyes closed softly, cheeks hollowed out, he would be even more intimating than the prisoner - pushing back the floppy bangs that had fallen onto his face. His fingers were delicate, and Picard did not think the prisoner had it in him to be this soft. It felt like he was watching something private, and he turned to the doctor. Worf had no such qualms.

He shot the doctor a quick smile, and she returned with one that light up her whole face. In another life, in another time, he could act on what he felt about her, but not in this one with a son  and a dead husband, body cool because of his orders. Instead he had to be content with looking from afar. Picard shook his head, trying to clear it. He must be more tired than he thought allowing these thoughts through while he was on duty.

"Report." He barked, hoping nobody would notice his pause.

"I put an IV drip in and got his fluids up to normal levels, and the supplements will help with the nutritional defects. It is clear he hasn't slept for a number of days, but I can find no physical reason for the insomnia. The only injury he has is a cut on his left palm, the trauma around the area suggesting it keeps being opened, but the pain shouldn't be enough to effect his sleep cycle." The doctor said, precise as always.

" _Sammy_ ," the man whispered, voice cracking, eyes slipping shut. "You should of told me it was getting so bad."

The doctor moved towards the man, uncaring about the fact he was dangerous and unknown, going as far to raise an eyebrow at Worf when he stepped forward with her. Picard's mind flashed back to her compassion getting her kidnapped by terrorists and he moved closer too.

"Mister - " she began, only to fall at the first hurdle.

"Dean Winchester. Call me Dean." Another time that would of been said with a flirty grin and a promise of a good night to come, but now his eyes didn't leave his brother's pale face, fingers ghosting on his cheeks.

"Dean, my readings tell me he hasn't slept in close to eighty hours." The prisoner's - Dean Winchester's - fist closed around the edge of the bio bed, but the hand on his brother's face stayed soft.

"Goddamnit." It came out more as a sigh.

Picard did not want to seem unsympathetic, but his own sleepless hours were raking up. "Wake him."

Dean's head shot up, green eyes burning. Picard would not be surprised if the man began growling, the look on his face animalistic. Every muscle in his body taut, ready to attack. "You want to wake him after what the doc just said?"

"Unconsciousness is not the same as sleep, Dean. His body can't heal like this." Beverly said, voice so calm and caring even the prisoner could not stay angry. His eyes search hers for a second, and whatever he finds in them causing him to nod to head slightly.

"OK, wake him. But - " he said, as Picard stepped forward to get a better look at Sam, " - you stay back. Just, he's gotta see me first, OK?"

Without another option, and Beverly's nod, he steps back. The doctor expertly pulled out a hypo and released the stimulant into Sam's blood, before stepping back as well, leaving Dean alone at the bed. For a second it seemed like it had no effect, and Picard wondered if that foreign agent in his blood was effecting the drugs as his eyes stayed closed, his breaths even and his muscles relaxed. But then Sam tensed like a violin string, chest beginning to heave like he was on the verge of a panic attack, wild eyes flew open and flew around the room, too fast to be taking any of it in.

They found Dean's, and the older brother smiled, opened his mouth to say something, but before a single syllable could be uttered, Sam punched Dean in the face.

*

_I'm an idiot_ , Dean thought as Sam's fist ploughed into his nose with bone crushing strength. He'd been waking the kid up from sleep since he was four years old, he should of known he would lash out with Lucifer riding shot gun and his nightmares playing long after he woke up. But this place, this goddamn _spaceship_ (and if he wasn't drowning in pain and worry and self hate he would grin at that insane notion again) was messing with his head, the eyes watching his every move making him forget the basics like _not leaning over an hallucinating half asleep Sammy_.

Sammy who had scrambled off the bed in a mess of wild spidery limbs, hitting the floor with no protection, eyes looking at something that wasn't there. He shuffled back, crashing into a table and causing medical equipment to scatter onto the floor like leaves in Autumn, until he hit the wall. Arms wrapped around himself protectively Dean could _smell_ the fear coming off him in thick waves (the part of him that never came back from hell basked in it). It broke his heart to see his brother, the man who saved the freaking world, cower in the corner like an abused dog from the shadows in his own mind. 

As Dean fell back, eyes watering, his hands did not go up to his probably broken nose, but to his side, open, the palms facing forward. That trigger happy fugly in human clothes raised his gun, small and lightweight, but that thing managed to knock him out with one shot.

"You shoot my brother, I will end you." He wondered how klingons' screamed. "Let me help him."

The gun stayed up, but the doctor - and any other time Dean would be all over that redhead - shook her head, and the captain agreed. The thank you he gave as it was lowered was not nearly enough to express his gratitude. Then his focus was back on Sam and everything else faded away.

Dean approached slowly, as one would a frightened animal, kneeling down so they were eye to eye, or would be if his brother's gaze wasn't moving so fast he had to be dizzy. He made sure to keep his hands open at all times, kept his posture open and friendly.

"Hey Sammy." He said softly, but he was too far gone. "HEY!"

Sam flinched at his tone, but this time his eyes flicked to him, fearful and screaming. They should never look at Dean like that, he was meant to protect the kid. It was no comfort to Dean that his brother wasn't actually seeing him right now, just another way he failed in his duty. He reached out, ignoring the way the kid shrunk back. Someone as big as Sam shouldn't be able to fade to nothing like that. He caught his hand, fingers pushing into the cut on it.

"Sam. You're out, with me. You're out Sam." And for a moment Dean thought he got through. He swore he saw clarity in those pained hazel eyes, but it was gone far too quickly. "No. Sam. You're OK. We're OK. You're out goddamnit. We got you out. That son of a bitch is gone, you hear me?"

He didn't know how long he sat there, muttering it to Sam, until the kid weakly tried to pull his hand back. He seemed surprised Dean let it go without a fight, or a dismemberment. Blinked, once, twice. Poked the scar, and Dean couldn't help the grin that stretched the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, Sam. You're out. You're OK." He went to grab Sam's hand again, but the kid kept it out of reach. Then, quick as a flash, he picked a scanner from off the floor and smashed it into his scarred hand. Bones crushed, hand soaking red, but when his eyes met Dean's shocked ones they were clear.

"Dean?" He asked, but before he could answer, Sam pulled him into a hug.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm here." As uncomfortable as it was hunched over on the floor like that, he wanted to keep the kid in his arms forever. Then he would always be safe, protected from the world. Of course, his brother had other plans, pulling back and gazing over Dean like _he_ was the one who freaked out on the floor and now had gimp hand that anyone who hadn't been to hell wouldn't be able to function properly with because of the pain.

"Your nose." He said, good hand reaching out before thinking better of it, his gaze holding only concern. "What happened?"

Dean had forgotten all about that, the overriding thought of _Sam Sam Sammy_ blocking out things like broke noses, but now it was pointed out, it began to throb.

"It's nothing." He said casually, but there must of been something in his eyes or his voice, and Sam ducked his head down. That was the damn problem with living out of each other's pockets, they knew each other too well. Just like he knew Sam was going to beat himself up over this.

"It was me." He said sadly. "Sorry."

Sometimes Dean wanted to punch the kid for his apologising. He placed too much guilt on himself (and he ignored the hissing voice in his head that said he did exactly the same - that was different, he _was_ at fault). He lifted Sam's chin up with two fingers, forcing eye contact. "Sammy, it's fine. It wasn't your fault, OK?"

The next couple of seconds was a battle of wills, and Sam, as thick headed as he was, conceded first. Dean thought the eighty hours without sleep may of swung it for him. The OK he replied with though, Dean suspected, was more to pacify him than any true belief, but it would have to do for now. He patted his brother on the cheek, earning himself a glare.

"Let's get your sasquatch ass back on the bed." Sam's eyes slid past him to the funky futuristic hospital bed he woke up on, paling slightly at whatever hell (and wasn't that just fitting?) he and only he was seeing. "Or how about another bed?"

Sam nodded gratefully, pulling himself up against the wall, his hand leaving a smear of blood down the sickbay walls. Dean put a supportive hand on his shoulder and received another glare. "Dude, I can walk."

"Sure you can." The sarcasm was thick, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Just don't cry on me when your ass hits the floor."

"Bite me." Sam shot back, not missing a beat, which was good; it meant he wasn't hearing any hisses from the devil. Dean's eyes stayed fixed on him as he took his first steps and for a second he was thrown back to when he was five, their Dad out on a hunt (or, more likely in those early days at a bar), and Sam pulled himself up and took his first waddle forward towards him. Unlike that time, his first step was not followed by him falling over and wailing. As they walked to one of the beds around the edge of the room, Sam looked around, big brain taking in the details and working out something wasn't right. He didn't take a second look at the fugly, which was a shame because Dean would have loved to have a second go at him, but the disappointment faded to vague queasiness as he realised his brother didn't do a double take because he thought Lucifer was changing his vision. A sick God forsaken cross breed of a dog and man was probably a relief to him compared to what the devil usual taunted him with. 

"Dean," Sam hissed, leaning in closer to him, aware that every eye in the room was tracking them, "where the hell are we?"

His face lit up. "Outer freakin' _space_ man!"

Sam gave him one of his bitch faces and when he spoke his voice could of rivalled the Sahara. "You're meant to be convincing me this is real, remember?"

"Do you think I would joke about something as awesome as this? There's aliens and everything!" Sam was clearly still doubtful of the whole thing, but Dean was sure once his brother saw those cool force fields he'll start geeking out just as much as he was. They reached the bed, and Sam hopped on, legs so long his feet brushed against the floor. Before Dean could check out his hand, the doctor pushed past him, strange equipment in hand.

"Hey, lady - " Dean began, but she cut him off.

"Not lady. _Doctor_. Now take a seat, I'll get to you in a second." Sam snorted as Dean's mouth flopped open, feeling all of ten years old. She turned to Sam, eyebrow raised. "I don't know what your smiling at mister - I don't take kindly to those who smash my equipment." Now it was Dean's turn to grin as the smile slid of Sam's face. He joined his brother on the bed.

"Uh, sorry. I'll pay for a new one." The kid looked so damn guilty, all hunched up and miserable liked he killed her dog, that the doc crumbled straight away. So quickly in fact Dean realised she was a lot more compassion than toughness.

"It's a joke. You do know what a joke is, right?"

_Like our lives_ Dean thought, but wisely kept quiet.

"Yeah, course." Sam said, biting his lip, watching the doc as she began scanning his hand, wincing at the readings it gave her.

"You really did a number on this." Well, Dean could of diagnosed that just be looking at it, looks like he got in a fight with a wood chipper and lost. She pulled out another device and began running it over his flesh.

"Sorry." Dean wondered what the hell Sam had to apologise for, making the doc do her job? "I sometimes... freak."

She snorted. "I'd say that was a bit more than your average freak out."

"Not one of Sammy's - he's a drama queen." Dean said, earning a glare from both of them.

"I'm fine now." Sam stressed.

"Oh yeah? Then why do you keep looking over my shoulder?" Dean could of kissed the doc if he wasn't sure it would earn him another punch - and maybe a bullet from the fugly - for seeing right through his brother's bull. If Dean had pointed it out, his brother would of denied it, an attempt to not worry him, even though looking after him was his job, but he clearly knew better than to mess with the doctor.

"Sorry." He muttered, causing two identical eye rolls that he missed with his head bowed. Then, almost comically, it flew back up, eyes wide. Dean's whole body tensed, ready to jump into action at the slightest sign of anything wrong. Instead Sam exclaimed, "you're not an angel!"

Relaxing slightly at the outburst, though a frown worked its way onto his face - maybe Sam really was losing his rocker - he glanced over, eyes immediately seeing the same thing. His eyes too widened, and mouth flopped open in disbelief. He knew it was the future, but Sam's hand, which only a second ago had been a bloody crushed mess, was now looking like a, well, a hand.

"Well, I know I'm not a picture... " The doc frowned too.

"No. Not that. You're fine. Better than fine. Great." Dean rolled his eyes. How his brother managed to ever get laid really was a mystery to him. "Angels are dicks anyway. You're much better than an angel. Much more beautiful." The doc's eyebrow was slowly rising up her face, but her lips were fighting their way into a half smile - maybe that whole bumbling idiot act was a hit with the ladies.

"Sam." Dean said, deciding to put his brother out his misery. "Shut up."

He nodded, stutters finally dying out with a "so, yeah". His face was bright red, and while Dean was never going to let him forget this one, he would take some of the heat off him.

"Hey, doc, you gonna fix my nose?"

She put her hands on her hips, healing device pointed at him threateningly, and Dean knew at that moment she was a mother, even if his job didn't involve being able to read people, he lived with Lisa for a year, not to mention Ellen. "Wait your turn." She said, giving Sam one last look over. She went to put the healing rod thing over the glass cut on his hand, but Sam wrenched it away.

"Don't." His voice, Dean suspected, was meant to be threatening, but it came out more like a beg. She frowned.

"Sam, it isn't good - "

" _No._ I need it." Dean winced slightly. It hadn't exactly been his plan for Sam to become dependent on it, but if it helped him cope it had to be a good thing, right? The doc differed for a second, before letting his hand go, Sam looking shocked for a second like the fact she might listen never crossed his mind (it probably hadn't, and he wondered how much courage it took Sam to be able to say no to anything) and let out a thanks. She shook her head.

"We need to talk about this." Her eyes flicked to her captain, tapping his foot impatiently. "Later, OK?" She waited for Sam to nod his agreement before coming over and doing a quick scan of Dean's nose. He caught a look at the screen of the device as she did so, the readings it was spitting out meaning nothing to him. Then her healing rod was against his skin.

When an angel healed someone, it felt warm. Like one had just submerged themselves in a bath, the brief heat travelling from one's head to the tips of one's toes. This was cold, like ice being run over the affected area, numbing it. It took longer than an angel's near instantaneous heal, but it was still damn quick. As the doc pulled away, Dean's eyes found Sam's.

"We so need one of those." The _now we've lost Cas_ was not said, but still hung heavily in the air. He never broached the topic of the angel with his brother, the mixture of grief and anger that clouded his mind every time he even thought of him too messy to put into words. He betrayed them, broke Sam on a crazy power trip, but he was his best friend, his _brother_. Dean hated having to choose between his family; he felt he never made the right choice.

"I just broke one and now you want me to steal another?" It was strained, an attempt to break the tension. Dean gave a weak smile anyway.

"Theft is taken very seriously on this ship." Worf said, loudly, reminding Dean there was other people in the room. Before he could shoot back his own comment, the captain stepped forward. He somehow managed to look more annoyed than he did at the brig. His frown and bruises under his eyes looked like a permanent feature; Sam and him should swap notes about it sometime.

"Are you ready to talk?" His tone said 'no' was not an answer. Dean looked at his brother who was staring off into space again, fingers tracing the cut on his hand. He let out a sigh as he watched - eighty hours and Sam had said nothing. After Dean's own stint in hell it wasn't like he'd been jumping at the chance either, but he managed, even if it was just for an hour or two. Of course having an angel who was too keen on his knockout mojo stalking him probably helped as well. Sam and the doc weren't the only ones who needed to talk.

"Hey Sam." Dean said, leaning over and poking him, pulling him out of whatever he'd got lost in with a flinch. "The captain wants to know how we got here, and seeing as you were the one who did all the research on this case..."

Sam raked a hand through his hair, forehead scrunched up in a thinking hard about something frown rather than a seeing something not there frown. "Well, this was completely out the witch's MO. Killing cheating husbands doesn't really fit with flinging two single guys into the future. Not to mention she was already dead. Might of been a failsafe is someone entered her house."

The captain swallowed when they mentioned she was dead, no doubt thinking they were murders, not understanding the nuances that came with hunting. "Witches? Do you expect me to believe that?"

Dean shrugged, he'd lived through one too many supernatural scepticism speeches to be understanding about it. That had always been Sam's job anyway, and he never quite managed to fit those gigantic shoes. "I don't give a damn what you believe, it's the truth."

Sam frowned at him before turning back to Picard. "Sorry about him, he's a dick." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean just grinned wider. "Anyway, I don't think it was witches - or at least not the one we were hunting, she just didn't have to power. It must be something else."

The captain looked like he thought they were crazy, probably making plans to lock them up in a white padded room if they didn't manage to get home. "Your brother mentioned - " he coughed, face looking like he was having his teeth pulled " - angels?"

Sam shook his head, bangs slipping from behind his ears and hitting his face."No, they have better things to do now than mess with us. Did we come out here?"

He looked around, like the medical beds might hold the secrets he was looking for. Picard shook his head. "Lieutenant Commander Data's room."

"We should see it. We might recognise something."

The captain looked uncomfortable, as one might when faced with the thought of two possibly crazy strangers wandering around his military vessel in _freakin' space_.

"Relax cap," Dean said, a smirk on his face that couldn't be knocked off by Sam's be respectful frown - and it was amazing how over a thousand years later it was the exact copy of the one shot at him when he spoke back to teachers. "Your guard dog will be on us at all times."

"And you took our weapons." Sam chimed in, helpfully.

"Not that we need them to kick your ass." He said it straight to the fugly, and those disgusting yellow teeth was bared at him (and seriously didn't these clingfilm things know about toothbrushes?). Sam kicked his ankle _hard_ , and he rubbed it with a glare at his brother. "I'm just saying." He muttered.

The captain looked at his doctor, a silent conversation ending with Picard's reluctant nod. He pressed his COMM. badge. "Commander Data, expect company." After the confirmation he turned to Worf. "Bring as much security as you deem necessary."

"Yes sir." He gave Dean another foul breathed smirk. Dean gave him one of his own right back. Monster, alien, whatever, he couldn't wait to knock it on its ass.

*

There was  two reactions one could have when first meeting Data : fear or astonishment. Ensign Crusher had dubbed it as the 'Data Effect' and the name had quickly caught on with the crew, some even going as far as beating on which one a new species will take.

So Data was used to being greeted by terror, and while he did not understand why the unknown caused this in beings - especially humans - he knew it did, and therefore could plan for it. Violence and anger was often accompanied by it, and in an attempt to avoid damage to himself, and injury to the humans, the visitors for the past would be introduced to him in a calm manner. 

This, Data observed, his back pressed against the wall of his quarters, a large hand in a hold that would be chocking if he was human, was not calm.

"Demon." The larger of the two visitors hissed, peering into his eyes as he pinned him. Sam Winchester, the younger, classed as 'unstable'. While the doctor did not send through why she had grouped him as so, Data filed 'delusions' under it. If he was not trapped - and while he could easily break the human's hold, his programming instructed him to keep as many people possible safe, the goal a non-violent end to this confrontation - he would of cocked his head.

"I am not a demon. I am an android."

That confused Sam, making him blink, eyebrows drawing together. His grip, though, did not loosen. Human's often got more dangerous when confused, not less. He needed to make the man understand.

"What?"

"An android. A robot with a - "

"I _know_ what an android is." He snorted, cutting him off. Data did not understand what the problem was. The other visitor - Dean Winchester, the older, classed as 'dangerous' - laughed. He held Lieutenant Commander LaForge's phaser at the engineer. When they first attacked he worked in perfect synchrony with his brother to attack the blind man as Sam lunged at him. Worf did not, to coin a human term, stand a chance, and now stood with his own phaser pointed at Dean, unwilling to shoot and injure a member of his own crew.

"Yeah. It's freaking _awesome._ "

"Dean." Sam sighed, his voice taking on a tone identical to the one Captain Picard often took with Ensign Crusher : exasperation. His eyes did not leave Data's for a second.

"What? It _is_ awesome. Are there more?" Dean peered at LaForge, like he too might be one.

"There are currently only two like me in existence." His face fell.

"So, no android chicks?"

" _Dean_." Sam sighed again.

"Right." He straightened up slightly, gun still fixed on the Commander. "Can demons even posses androids?"

Sam shrugged. "Christo." When Data made no reaction, he reached down and pulled a set of keys out his back pocket. They jingled as he lifted it towards him.

"Dude, they let you keep your keys?" Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's complaint.

"If you had not attacked my staff, you too would still have your keys." Worf snarled.

"Well as honoured as I am that you think I could make a car key  and a bottle opener into a lethal weapon, why do you even have your keys out Sam?"

"My anti-possession charm, it's iron." He rolled up Data's shirt on handed, the other staying around his neck, even though now he must know the android did not need air to breath. He angled the sharp side against his skin (and Data noted that the side was knife like, and the man must of spent time making it so), but before he put pressure down, he looked up, biting his lip.

"This might hurt." He looked apologetic. Data used the smile filed under 'comforting'. He did not think it worked.

"I do not feel pain."

"Good, I guess." Data opened his mouth on how, in fact, they was not always a good thing, but Geordi caught his eye and shook his head. Sam sliced down. He stared at it for a second, but when nothing happened he stepped back, hands digging deep into his pocket jeans.

"Sorry." He muttered. Dean, too, lowered his phaser, and after a moment longer of Worf's weapon on him, handed it back to Geordi. Unlike his brother, he did not look even slightly apologetic, instead rocking back on his heels and looking around the room. He rubbed his hands together in front of him.

"So, team, what we got?" He asked, grin on his face, like the last ten minutes hadn't happened.

Unimpressed, LaForge raised an eyebrow. Data answered for him, stepping away from the wall he was forced against. "At 1800 hours an energy spike was detected in my quarters - this room. You came through here." He walked over to the opposite wall, standing in front of a shelf which held various items he had acquired during his travels. Geordi called it his 'knick-knack wall'. "However, so far we have not been able to determine where the spike came from."

"The original energy from your transport is like nothing we've ever detected before." Geordi added.

"Well, then, let the professionals work." Dean began to march towards where Data was, and the android moved out the way to give him a better look - and to avoid being attacked once again. There was a low probability of it happening, but he wanted to be prepared this time. He stopped when he came to a pocket watch, picking it up, pressing the button so the cover swung open revealing the ticking face. Data had brought it a month ago from a trader. It was badly burned, and had been broken, but he had fixed it up to its former glory. While the design was simple, the fact it told not only the time, but the date and year as well, intrigued him. According to the time it stopped on, it had not been used for close to fifty years, and the insides had been frozen with rust.

"Hey Sammy, you recognise this?" Dean held it up in the air.

His younger brother moved closer, long legs taking the room in half the steps Data took. He squinted at it for a second, before nodding. "That was back at the house. You were playing at it."

Dean looked up from the watch. "Don't." He warned. Sam frowned.

"What?"

"Don't give me the whole lecture about touching things in a witch's house."

"Well I did - "

"Shut it." His tone maybe harsh, but they were both smiling. Data filed their conversation under 'brotherly banter', a file under stocked with only a few siblings on the _Enterprise_ and his own brother and him not on the best terms.

 "OK. I just - " Dean closed his eyes and pressed the button at the top. After a second of nothing happening he cracked open on eye.

"Did you really think that would work?"

Dean pulled a face. "Worth a try."

Geordi came over, curiosity getting the better of his worry. Two fingers were pressed against the side of his VISOR, frowning like he did when trying to process new information coming through it. "Something funky just happened when you pressed it."

Data scanned it. "There were no readings on my tricorder."

Geordi shrugged. "I'm telling you Data, that thing was lighting up like a Christmas tree."

"Theory?"

"Nothing I can think of." He held his hand out and after a second, and a nudge from his brother, Dean handed it over. Geordi lifted it so it was level with his VISOR, pressing the button at the bottom again. "Woah, it just happened again. Are you sure you're getting nothing?"

Data checked his tricorder. "Positive."

The engineer sighed. "That doesn't make any sense. Every sensor on the ship went mad when they came through."

"But it's not sending us through time now." Sam pointed out.

"So the energy is beginning to build up, but it's not taking us anywhere so it just fizzles out?"

"The tricorder should be able to detect that." Data pointed out, but Geordi shook his head.

"Maybe not. This energy is like nothing I've ever seen before. The tricorder might not be able to pick it up in these trace amounts. You'll need a lot more to bring two people over 200 years into the future."

Dean sneezed, pulling Geordi about of his theories. Aware everyone's eyes had turned to him, he quickly spoke."Must be dusty in here."

"I assure you, the _Enterprise_ is cleaned on a daily basics. If you have any complaints you are able to bring them up with the janitorial crew." Data explained.

"I don't think that will be necess-" Sam began, only for Dean to cut him off letting out a loud "aha!"

Spot had come out of hiding from under Data's desk and was now rubbing itself between the android's legs, getting ginger fur on his standard issue trousers. Data picked it up, stroking it as it purred at him.

"I'm allergic to cats." Dean explained, before sneezing again, glaring at the ginger Somali cat like it was vermin. With a roll of his eyes, Sam leant forward, stroking the cat as well, ignoring his brother's protests. The keys still in Sam's hand fell onto the creature and it sizzled, the cat jumping out of its owner's arms and running away. Sam and Dean shared a look, while the rest looked on in puzzlement.

"Dude, I think your cat is a shifter." Dean said, with a frown. Geordi snorted, not convinced, but Data could not find a logical explanation for what just happened with his known information. "Do we kill it?" He asked that bit to Sam, who shrugged.

"It's not hurting anyone, right?" Dean opened his mouth, only to sneeze again.

"It's hurting me, right now." He grumbled, but Data stepped forward.

"You are not killing my cat."

Dean scowled. "Just keep it away from me then." He shot one last glare at where the creature disappeared to before turning back to Geordi. "So, does this energy help get us home?"

"It shouldn't be too hard to recalibrate the tricorders to detect it in trace amounts. But on getting you home..." He shrugged and Dean cursed.

"Fucking witches."

Geordi lowered the watch, intense gaze now focused on the man. "Seriously? First you want to kill Spot and now you think this is magic?"

"While it seems an unlikely hypothesis to come to, many Earth - and alien - cultures have mentions of 'magic'." Data stated, earning himself a snort from the engineer, and a nod from Sam.

"Primitive species without a decent grasp on science. Now we know things have nothing to do with wands and cauldrons."

Worf - who had been largely ignored by the group, guarding the door with his hand never leaving his holster - stood up straighter. "Klingons use magic"

"Uh, I mean - " began Geordi, stumbling to find something to say. Data had learnt it was wise not to insult the klingons in front of Worf. Dean, however unlikely it seemed, was the one to come to the engineer's rescue.

"Not very well if they can't fix your face." His smug smile was knocked off when his brother elbowed him in the ribs. It was hard enough that Data suspected it would bruise.

"He's going to kill you, and I'm going to let him." Worf, teeth bared, did look like he was going to murder the man, however Data did not believe Sam would let him. To avoid his quarters becoming a blood bath in the name of honour - and while Data could not feel anything for this room, he had become used to it, the paintings on the wall and programs on his computer unique, and therefore cannot be lost - he took the watch out of Geordi's hand.

"In the lab we can do a full scan."

The engineer nodded, eagerly. "Agreed."

They began to move to the door, stopping when Sam called out. "Do you need our help?"

Data and Geordi shared a look, the former shaking his head slightly. Data got the message like the man COMMed him. "We will not need your help during the preliminaries."

"Maybe Worf can give you a tour?" Geordi suggested before they hurried out. Spot ran after them, seemingly aware of the threat on its life. Only once they were in the turbo lift going to the lab did he let out a long breath. Then the human turned to his best friend, grin on face, looking more relaxed than he ever had in the room. "I give them ten minutes before they tear each other apart."

"I've calculated five."

*

Troi could feel the thick, dark emotions rolling off Dean from the other side of the visitor quarters door. Worry was the strongest, seeping off him and polluting the air around. There was fear too, but nothing compared to his brother's (Sam's painterrorohgodnoneofthisisreal _helpme_ forcing her to leave the room he's in or be drowned, she can still sense it, even though he's now in sickbay, and she wonders how he's still alive). Anger, at himself and others. And, once she peels all that back, an emptiness. A hole he tried to pave over with drinking and fighting, but it's still there, eating away at his soul.

She smiled at the security guard stationed outside the room, before stepping in the sensor field, and the door sprung open for her. The room was like all the visitor quarters, and Dean sat at the table, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Not synthahol, but rather the real thing, poured out of a flask he must of managed to sweet talk back from the security staff. Dean's head flew up as it opened, gaze snapping up though it had seemed like all his attention was on the amber liquid in his hand. He gave her a once over, before letting out a blinding smile, and Troi suddenly realised he was _handsome_. Chiselled jaw, deep green eyes, plush lips. If it wasn't for his presence which screamed _danger_ (even if it wasn't aimed at her, that one saying _let's have some fun sweetheart_ ) she might of fallen for it.

"Can I enter, Dean?" She asked. The worry was still thick, but now it was punctuated by excitement, interest. If she wasn't a beautiful woman, he would say no. Instead he nodded, motioning to the chair across from him.

"A girl as beautiful as you can always come into my room." It was a bad line. _Riker worthy_ her mind supplied, and she couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face as she thought about the _Enterprise_ 's first officer. Dean, of course, thought the smile was for him, leaning in closer to her across the table. Their eyes meet and if she squinted she could see the emptiness in them.

"Deanna Troi." They share a laugh at how similar their names are, but he held back the comment of _I always wanted to do myself_ that she knows is there.

"What brings you to my room, other than my good looks of course?" She knew what she would say next would shut him up like a clam, but it had to be said. If it came out later, he may become violent towards her.

"I'm the ship's consoler." Just as he suspected his easy grin turned hard, his body moving away. The whiskey which had been temporarily forgotten back in his hand. Everything screamed _leave me alone_ , but Troi was not going to do that. It wasn't healthy, to let those emotions fester under the surface, only to come out in fits of drunken rage.

"Let me guess : you want to talk about Sam. He's not crazy, he's just been through more than you can possibly imagine. He doesn't need to be carted off to a white room somewhere, he needs me." There was doubt about that last statement, the worry that he wasn't enough, and the fear of what will happen to his brother if he was not.

"Does that scare you? Losing him?"

Dean shook his head, annoyance flashing red. "Nope. You ain't going to get into my head either lady. Sammy and me are fine."

"We both know that is not true Dean." His eyes flashed, and Troi never realised green could remind one of fire. They promised pain if she didn't back off, the danger this time was all aimed at her. She edged her chair back slightly, putting herself out of his reach, careful to make sure he would not notice it.

"You don't know anything." He snarled.

"I can feel your rage, your fear, your helplessness." His knuckles tighten around his glass, turning white.

"You a psychic?" He spat out that word, like it was a curse.

"An empath."

His eyes narrowed. "Same thing. Stay out my head - you're not going to like it in there."

She tried not to show her fear, instead letting out an aura of calm. In her job it is not unusual to come across those who would rather hurt someone than just talk. People feel uncomfortable with her powers, and, just like Dean, are scared by them.

"I'm not purposefully seeking your emotions out." She explained, his snort saying he didn't believe that for a second. "You're projecting. It's not surprising . Looking after someone who is mentally ill - especially someone as severely as your brother - is hard."

"It doesn't matter if it's hard. It's my job. It's been since I was four."

"Four? That's a young age to hold that responsibility."

"Well nobody else was going to!" His jaw snapped shut, eyes sliding off her like he thought he said too much. Absent parents? Or no parents at all? After the horrors it was clear they had both been through it was hardly a surprise he was so scared of his brother leaving, if each other was all they had left, all they had in the first place. He sighed. "It's not - look, Sam doesn't do well on his own."

"Or don't you?" Dean gritted his teeth together.

"Look, lady, you don't know what you're talking about. Left to his own devices he'll start the damn apocalypse!" She wondered what someone could do that seems that bad, the man down in sickbay didn't give the impression of someone who would try and cause deliberate harm. An excuse to not let Sam out of his sight, a reason they had to stay together whether it was harmful to his brother or not. Of course, Dean wouldn't deliberately wound his brother, the love he felt burned more strongly even than his fear, but this mentality could be damaging if it stopped Sam getting the help he needed. And it was clear the man was getting no help with his PTSD, his flashbacks and hallucinations. Dean's refusal to accept Sam's madness leaving the latter to hide it at every opportunity. Self sacrificing, Troi knew the type, but sometimes one needs to put oneself before others. Of course she couldn't remove thirty years of programming in one session, and she doubted Dean would seek out more help once he was home.

"But you'll take him back? Forgive him?"

"He's _Sammy_." Like that meant everything. For all his protests otherwise, it was clear staying together was just as much - if not more - for Dean than Sam.

"But you don't forgive yourself? I feel so much guilt, anger, hate directed at yourself."

"I told you to stay out my head." He snapped, deflecting again. Lifting the glass to his lips he downed it in one, not even wincing at the taste. It may as well of been water. He poured another glass, glaring at it as the flask emptied before it was topped completely topped up. Troi just waited patiently, and after a minute, he let out a long sigh. "The things I've done, they can't just be forgiven."

His fingers clutch the glass like it was a lifeline. "Nothing is so bad it can't be forgiven."

She said it softly, but Dean flinched like the words were physical blows. Then he snorted, lips twisting into a bitter half smile. "I've hurt people counsellor, and I've enjoyed it."

It was the truth, but there was something more to it. She could tell. Dean was not a bad man, the guilt which curled around him spoke that loud and clear, but that didn't mean the darkness was not there, lying in wait. "You feel guilty, is that not proof you are not completely bad?"

Dean's emotions were in turmoil. Hope clashing with guilt. He wanted to believe her desperately, but he couldn't. "Look - " He began, only to be cut off as the door slid open once again.

Sighing - damnit, she was getting somewhere here - she turned, surprised to see Riker standing at the door. She wanted to walk over and lock him out : there was not enough time already. Geordi and Data were on the case of getting the brothers home, and there was nothing they couldn't do if they put their minds together.

"Commander?" She asked tightly, only receiving a smile from him, his eyes promising nothing good.

"Deanna, I didn't realise you were here."

"Why are you here?" For all Dean's rough tone, Troi could feel the relief pouring off him. He did not want to talk to her, and this was just the distraction he needed.

"I was wondering if you wanted to join our poker game. We're two down, seeing as Data and Geordi are working on getting you home. That's if it's OK with Deanna." He said, looking straight at her. She nods.

"Of course."

Dean stood up, chair scrapping against the floor. His eyes spelt just as much trouble as Will's. "I can't wait to kick your ass."

*

Cocky attitude that he wore with a smug smile, eyeing every girl who walked past. Striding along like he owned the damn place. It made Will want to knock this Dean Winchester down a peg or ten. Clearly he thought he was a fox in the hen house, but Will was going to show him it was the other way around. And what better way to do it than poker?

His annoyance at the man had nothing to do with Deanna calling him 'fascinating', whatever her knowing smile she kept shooting at him was saying.

Worf was already there when they arrived, and once they took their seats they were only waiting on the doctor. Him and Deanna talked as they waited, the former eyeing up Dean now and then. He was shuffling up the deck, pulling out random cards and studying them with a bored interest. Worf's unblinking stare on the man - and Will always did think the klingon was an excellent judge in character - meant he was not fixing the cards to suit him.

Before long the doctor arrived, Sam in tow. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his smile nervous, and while he was taller than him - and that was quite an achievement seeing as Will boasted six foot four - the second in command was not threatened. He was, however, uneasy. Even more so as he watched Deanna shiver slightly as he entered, eyes closing briefly as his madness came over her. They were both insane, of course, tales of witches and demons and angels. What worried Will was not the stories themselves, most likely aliens before first contact if anything at all, but how they  had managed to worm them into even Data's mind, the android now searching witchcraft as an option to get them home. Even Picard, after a long talk with Guinan, decided to let it slide, telling the rest of the crew to do the same. ("There are more things in heaven and Earth, Number One, than are  dreamt of in your philosophy" the captain said, a twisted smile on his face.)   

Sam took a seat at a right angle from his brother, casting a glance to the corner of the room before grinning at his brother. "Dude, are you sure you're up for this? Last time you played poker you became an old man."

Dean punched him on the shoulder. "Shut up Sammy, I'm awesome."

Sam rolled his eyes as Will raised an eyebrow. "Have you got a bite to go with that bark?" The commander asked.

The man's jaw tightened. "Let's play." He handed the pack to Riker who quickly dealt the first round out. Dean was not a cautious player, doing his best to intimidate his opponents, all while his face gave nothing away. Like Will he enjoyed the rush of gambling big, but unlike him he liked to bet more than he could afford to lose. When told klingons did not bluff, Dean grinned and said, smile cocky and oh so punchable "neither do Winchesters."  

It wasn't a surprise with him, Worf and Dean playing that after a few games the women were mostly sitting out, the stakes too high. More a game of chicken than poker. Worf folded, his cards scattering out at he threw them down on the table in anger, leaving him and Dean. He thumbed the edge of the cards, looking over the top of them to the stoic man. A full house, it was unlikely the other man had better. If Riker played, his pile of chips would become nonexistent, but he couldn't not play. Deanna was watching them with a small smile, no doubt having a field day with this firsthand experience of 'human male domination'.

"You know," Will said, slowly, testing the waters, and warning Dean of who he was dealing with. Really, he was doing the man a favour. "I fought the Borg and lived to tell the tale."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And who are they meant to be?"

"A cyborg race who tried to assimilate the Earth."

Dean eyes said two could play that game. Not even looking at his cards, he stared in Will's unblinking gaze and it felt like the man was reading his mind. "I defeated Eve, the first evil. By making out with her."

"I stopped a conspiracy that was planning to take over the Federation."

Dean snorted. "Nobody cares about Russia."

Now it was Will's turn to raise an eyebrow. "The Federation is a planetary alliance including the Earth, Vulcan and Andoria."

"How was I supposed to know that?" He grumbled, scowling. Clearly he had done no research into his current predicament, and here Will was thinking he was smart. "Well I said no to the Archangel Michael."

"I said no to Q after he gave me God-like powers."

"I - "

"Gentlemen." Beverly said, folded cards on the table in front of her, face in an exasperated smile. "As fun as this little pissing competition is, some of us would like to play."

"Sweetheart we are playing." Dean leered, getting a glare from the doctor which could break glass. He pushed the rest of his chips forward, and Will did not even pause before matching.

Dean flipped his cards. A pair. Will laughed, a large smirk coming over his face. Well, he had balls if not the cards. As he reached for the frankly ridiculous pile of chips in the middle, Dean shrugged.

"I lied : Winchester's always bluff." For someone who just lost big time, he didn't seem particularly bothered. Then a large, dangerous smile spread on his face, and Will felt a pool of dread begin to form in his stomach. "But we always bring back up."

Will looked around and saw Sam.

Sam who stayed quiet and cautious. Who didn't join in on the goading or the banter. Who seemed to disappear into his brother's all consuming shadow. Sam who had all his chips pushed into the middle pile, his cards flipped over to show a royal flush.

His face was half smug, half apologetic, like he couldn't decide if he approved of this tactic or not. He leant forward to collect his winnings, leaving Will frozen and cursing himself. How could he have forgotten the other man was there? An amateur mistake.

Sam paused, looking the first officer straight in the eye.

"I beat the devil."

*

Sam couldn't sleep.

He never could anymore. Not with the nightmares, not with Lucifer - who was just a figment of his broken brain, he wasn't real, Sam knew that, didn't he? - screaming in his ear. He spent awhile flicking through the files on the computer as Dean slept in the other bed. They could be in any motel in the U.S., Sam sitting at the table researching as the clock ticked past midnight while Dean snored away. Except for the fact this room was bigger and cleaner, and a security guard was outside the door.

He spent a while looking through the history files, restricted to everything before 2012 of course, but it didn't really matter because all this just being here meant they - or another group of hunters - defeated the Leviathans. The information that they did have on file anyway was sketchy at best, and Sam couldn't help grinning at what was referred to as the 'Eugenics Wars', which was really only a desperate attempt of a grab of power by a couple of genetically engineered super humans ("I'm telling you Sammy, they were demons") in Asia that lasted six months tops, and were easily overthrown. Sam vaguely remembered seeing it on the crappy TVs they sometimes had in motel rooms before his brother flicked it off the news to something less... savoury. The whole thing had been completely overblown because of 'lost records'. 

Not so amusingly was the account of the Apocalypse, ironically named 'The Year of Hell'. It rocked him, seeing his mistakes in black and white over three centuries in the future. Not that they knew it was the end of days. Freak weather, natural disasters, an unusual amount of people waking up one day and deciding to become mass murders. Again a lot of the information was missing, and Sam had to resist the urge to fill in the gaps with what he knew.

Sam might of got some sleep if he hadn't stumbled across that file, giving Lucifer so much more ammo. His taunting always got worse when the devil was pleased with himself. With no hope of rest, and the walls of the room suddenly closing in on him, Sam slipped out of the quarters. It was painfully easy to slip past the guard (he would of thought in the army security officers wouldn't fall asleep on the job) and just wander around the ship. He didn't know where he ended up, only it was dark, with a large window across one side where he could stand and watch the stars out of. Lucifer looked out with him, fingers pressed up against the glass, and Sam knew that with one push the angel could shatter through the glass and send the two of them flying out into the vacuum of space.

He'd experienced it. His body freezing, lungs rupturing, his saliva boiling. Sam closed his hand into a fist, pressing against the scar. Like he could read his mind ( _of course he can, he's only in your head remember_ ), Lucifer's fingers began tapping away on the glass.

"Looks like the cage." He said and Sam could see his wicked grin in the reflection of the glass. He swallowed. The endless nothingness which stretched on and on, all bent to the will of an insane archangel that hated and loved him. "Makes you wonder if you're really out."

"There was no light in the cage." Sam knew he shouldn't answer back. He had a handle on things until he spoke to him ( _He gets angry when you answers back_ ).

Lucifer frowned, and Sam held his breath, but he just kept tapping away on the glass. His eyes found Sam's in the glass, and once they had met he couldn't look away. "There was _me_."

Sam shivered, frozen in a staring competition with a ghost ( _unless they were the only two people who were real_ ). Lucifer turned around, moving towards him, and Sam couldn't even breath out a sigh of relief that the glass was forgotten because he was right in his face. So close he could feel the devil's frozen breath on him.

"Couldn't sleep?" Sam jumped, whipping around, cursing himself. He needed to stay aware, now more than ever. He was already a liability.

"How long until Dean-o decides to ditch you?" Lucifer hissed into his ear, too close. Sam stepped away, ignoring him, wishing the doctor hadn't fixed up his hand. Broken bones were still enough to scare him away. He tried to focus on the speaker, a dark skinned woman all in purple, a large flat hat on her head that looked, Sam thought, ridiculous. She was standing behind the bar, and Sam tried and failed to remember if she was there when he came in.

"Uh, yeah." He said, edging closer. She didn't look dangerous, but then again he knew looks can - and, in his line of work, often were - deceiving.

"I'm not surprised after what you've seen."

_Psychic?_ Sam frowned. The counsellor which approached Dean (and Sam had it up to his head with Dean complaining about something that may actually help him) was. Maybe psychics were accepted in the future, or maybe she was an alien. Sam had no idea what aliens looked like but he never imagined they would look like Whoopi Goldberg. "You know who I am?" He asked instead, wishing he had more than his iron and silver key rings on him.

She smiled, leaning forward on the bar top, looking wiser than her years should allow. "Let's just say I read a lot."

Sam cursed. "Damn it Chuck."

"You can't stop a prophet from writing, however much they should."

Sam hopped onto a barstool, feet still touching the ground if he suddenly needed to run. Lucifer came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and it took all of Sam's effort not to flinch. "They're not as pretty as you are when they're smashed open." The devil sing-songed as the woman behind the bar pulled out a bottle of beer and handed to him. The bartender perhaps.  Sam opened it with a flick of his wrists, taking a glug.

"So, those books are still around then?" Great everyone was still reading his mistakes for _fun_. Probably writing awful porn online about him and his brother. He grimaced, taking another glug to chase away those mental images.

"It's gospel." Sam's face paled, and she laughed. "That's a joke, kid. I doubt there's a copy left in existence now."

"Good. Makes me feel violated, people reading about my life like that. I wonder if Jesus felt like that."

"You're nothing like Jesus." She looked him up and down, and Sam fought the urge to cover himself with his hands. He would say it felt like she was peeling him apart and gazing into his soul, but Sam knew how that felt like and this was marginally more pleasant. "Maybe Judas."

Sam huffed out a sound which was meant to be a laugh. "Great." Sure he knew he messed up, but being compared to the greatest betrayer of all time, yeah that hurt.

"Next she'll be calling you the devil." Lucifer laughed, icy breath making all the hairs on his neck stand up. Sam took a sip, trying to cover up his shiver, and pressed the scar on his hand to no effect. If anything it made it worse, Lucifer pressing into him, cold seeping into his back, bones, soul.

"We all have our roles to play. Some mean you die for the sins of others while others die for their own."

"I jumped to save the world." His hand clutched the beer bottle so tight his knuckles were turning white. He wanted to throw it at her.

"Did you? Or did you jump to fix your mistakes?"

He bit his lip, looking away from her intense stare. His mind screamed she was wrong, but it couldn't quite cover up the fact she was right. His one redeeming act, and it was done out of selfish motivations. He couldn't live with the guilt, so he jumped. And the fact he brought Lucifer down with him, well that was just a necessity. God knows he tried to check out with the devil still topside. He made a mess and he fixed it.

"What's worse," The devil asked, "selling out your brother for thirty bits of silver or for drugs?"

"I saved the world." He said to the bartender, to Lucifer, to himself. That had to mean something, whatever his motivation.

"If you think about it, so did Judas."

Unable to stop himself, Sam laughed. The bartender gave him a look. He was getting used to this one, it said _you're off your rocker_. "Sorry, it's just, you could give Gabriel some pointers."

"I never could stand that angel. Never saw the advantage of a good old fashioned conversation rather than games."

Sam wasn't surprised she knew the archangel, even though he'd been dead for three hundred years. He'd missed it before, though he didn't quite know how, those eyes haunted him every time he looked in the mirror, saw his brother. Eyes too old for their face. "Are you an angel?" He asked blushing slightly as he remembered his reaction to Beverly earlier.

She shook her head. "No, thank God. I could never follow orders like them." She leant on the bar, and Sam moved closer, his hair falling forwards like she was about to tell him a secret. "Do you know the worst thing about angels - all angels? They just can't stay dead."

Her eyes twinkled and Sam's mind spun. Gabriel? Or - he didn't want to think it, but hope was already bubbling up.

"Cas?" He asked, voice low, like a prayer. He shattered Sam's mind like a mirror, but he had accepted Sam after he had done so much worse. He was _family_. And without him there was a hole made worse by his brother refusing to speak about it. Made worse by Sam stabbing him in the back before he had time to say _I forgive you, I'm sorry, we need you_.

"You can't stop a prophet from writing." She said, enigmatic, before pulling herself up, business like. Sam blinked, was she saying Chuck was still alive too? Not that they knew he died, only he disappeared sometime after Sam had jumped.

He finished his beer slowly, his mind whirling. He wondered if Dean ever tried to contact him. He had been angry at Cas for so long, but Sam knew it was just a cover to hide his grief. He could still see the angel stumbling into the lake,  the Leviathans exploding out of him, and Sam watching, not sure if this was real or just another torture, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. Dead, except, maybe...

Sam closed his eyes and prayed.

*

Dean Winchester reminded him of Tasha.

It angered Worf that his mind would make that comparison. The _Enterprise's_ once Chief Security Officer was brave, beautiful and strong compared to Winchester's human, cocky and foolish. But, as Worf blocked another punch, he couldn't help but notice the similarities.

For one, they were both trained by the human military. Their bodies conditioned to a finely tuned weapon, each punch, kick, twist thought out. He noted many fusions of different Earth martial arts, though he missed the ones she fused into her style from across the galaxy. It was a shame, from a duelling point of view, that Winchester did not have that knowledge - the Northern Andorian styles would blend near seamlessly with his own.

But, under that, there was a desperation the military didn't teach. Worf himself, bound by honour and brought up on Earth, lacked it. Tasha learnt it from living in hell, to fight dirty to survive another day. Nothing was too low; there was no rules to survival. Winchester had it too. Worf did not realise old Earth had been so dangerous as to merit this desperation in its citizens.

Worf punched, flat palmed, and Winchester ducked, not fast enough. The blow got him in the shoulder, and he staggered slightly, quickly regaining his balance. The way he moved said he was used to fighting people - _things_ , and klingons accepted the creatures that sulked in the night even if humans did not - stronger, faster, better than him. Worf was pleased, the fight would of been over quickly if he had not.

Winchester twisted, spun around leg out, and a slower man would of tripped, but Worf grabbed it, pulled, and this time the human did lose his balance. Hitting the floor, air coming out of his lungs in one large puff.

But, so like Tasha, just because he was down, did not mean he was out.

As Worf pinned him, Winchester leant forward, crashing their foreheads together - an action which hurt the human more than him. For a second he blinked dazed, just long enough for Worf to let down his guard. Winchester's knee came up, ploughing into his groin, and this time the klingon's grip did loosen, and he was rolled over.

Now Worf was pinned below, Winchester's smug grin hanging above him. And this is where he drifted from Tasha who took her wins full of grace.

"You should really brush your teeth." It was his downfall, a momentary distraction. Enough for Worf to hook his legs around the man and flipped them again. This time he placed his hands around Winchester's throat and squeezed.

He gasped, a fish out of water. Human's lung capacity was smaller than klingon's. This would not take long.

Winchester tapped out and Worf released him, standing up over him. The man took his time, laying on the floor for a second longer, a grin on his face as he rubbed his throat, red with the promise of bruises to come. The doctor will be annoyed when she sees it, always scolding the officers for how violent their training sessions get, like that isn't the whole point. If Romulans, the Borg, Cardassians board the ship they will not pull their punches.

"Finally, a therapy I can get behind." Winchester croaked, jumping up, the adrenaline still pumping around his system. He did not seem overly worried about the fact he'd just been strangled, already ready for round three.

"I, too, enjoy kicking your ass." And Worf did. It was a good challenge, a good way to get out all those pent up feelings one could not express in this job. Troi was finally understanding how men like him worked, and it was not through talking.

"Hey, hey, I'm going to win this time." He got into a defensive position, both hands in front of him in fists, but Worf turned away. Two rounds ago he would of expected Winchester to attack his back, but now he knew him better, and was not surprised to see the man staying in position. As much as Worf was loathed to admit it, the man did have honour in him.

He pulled two training bat'leths off the wall. Him and Winchester were both men who would appreciate a work out with the real things, but the doctor would suspend him from active duty if the visitor came into sickbay missing an arm. He threw one to his partner, and Winchester, reflexes fast, caught it, weighing it up in his hands.

" _Nice_." He whispered, wonder in his gaze as he did a couple of experimental strikes with it. He held it like a sword. Worf shook his head.

"No. It is an extension of your arm. Watch." Worf showed him, and Winchester copied his stance perfectly. His face was lined in concentration but his eyes were lit up like a child at his first fight. Mere months ago he taught his own flesh and blood to use this weapon - Alexander did not appreciate it like Winchester did. Worf could not help the fear that his son would not grow to become a warrior, will never be accepted into klingon society.

After a couple of basics attacks and blocks he deemed Winchester ready. They circled each other, weapons in hand. Unlike last night's poker game there was not attempts at intimidation. Here in this room the fight did the talking. Eye talking, steady breathing. This time it was just Winchester and him, no brother to save him.

Dean lurched forward and -

A man appeared between them.

Tall, but shorter than Winchester and him. He didn't look threatening from behind, body slight, hidden under a tan coat, his black hair a mess. But he managed to transport on the ship through the shield.

"Cas?" Winchester whispered, confused and frozen in place.

Worf did the only thing he could do to protect the ship, to protect Winchester : he smashed the bat'leth into the back of the intruders head. The man fell like a sack of rocks. Winchester looked down at the body, before staring at Worf, for the first time his eyes held respect and... awe.

"Dude, you just knocked out an angel."

*

At full strength an angel could smite a whole continent in one go. To extinguish the light of their Father's creation was actually quite easy. All it took was a click of one's fingers and the soul would leave the body, the shell dropping dead.

Castiel was not at full stength. No angel had been for over three centuries. The war that was currently ripping through heaven like a never ending hurricane was also destroying their grace. That should have been enough to unite the bitterly divided fractions, but with no one to guide them his brothers and sisters seemed content to fight each other until they simply ceased to be.

Castiel tried to be the leader they needed, but his attempts had only made things worse, not just for his brethren, but for his Father's favourite species too. It will not stop, he suspected, until his Father came home, nobody else able to fill his shoes. But he did not come to them in their time of need and the war raged on.

He had watched the humans fight in the last world war as he lay recovering from an attack on their front line. Gazed down as their salvation was built from a weapon of destruction. He had hope - and his Father knew there was not enough of that going around these days - that their war would have a happy ending too.

He knew before he opened his eyes where he was : _Enterprise_ 's sickbay. He'd been knocked out by a klingon. If one of Father's creatures was to get a drop on an angel it would be a klingon, they were after all the only species to kill their guardian angels sent to help protect their planet, announcing they did not need their Gods anymore. Since then, none of his brethren had stepped foot on Qo'noS. In fact, they did not even enter Suto'vo'qor - the klingon fraction of heaven - since Khaless arrived and him and his followers managed to rip down the walls between each individual heaven, leaving a bloody trail in their wake.

 That he was not the first angel to be bested by a klingon did not make being knocked out by one any less embarrassing, an emotion he was not fond of. Living in Jimmy Novak's body for as long as he had he could experience feelings stronger than his brothers and sisters could, and the humiliation he would experience if this got back to his garrison would be immense. He would of quite happily stayed moping, but he was here for a reason. An impossible reason.

Groaning, he opened his eyes and sat up, ignoring the doctor's (Beverly Cheryl Crusher, his mind informed him) protests. She did not understand he was an angel, her medicine would not help him. He gazed at the faces (Jean-Luc Picard, Worf son of Morg), finding his goal easily. The Winchesters.

"Sam. Dean." He greeted formally, voice croaky, before being smashed into a hug by the former. Sam was worryingly thin, and Castiel could sense the poor condition his body was in. The only time he could remember it being this bad (because the man always put concerns like his health secondary to whatever case they were on this week) was in the mental hospital before Castiel took on his pain, but surely that was not the case now, the man would not be able to touch him. His grip was still strong, and if Castiel still had to breath he would be finding it difficult. Once he was released he found himself in an even tighter hug from Dean. A desperate plea of _you're back_ and _never leave again_. Cas was beginning to get an unpleasant twist in his stomach of when the Winchester's came from.

"How are you here man?" Dean asked, looking at him from arms length, hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Sam too grasped his knee. Like they thought if they let go he would just disappear.

"I could ask you the same thing." Cas replied.

"Well I asked you first." Sam elbowed Dean for his childish reply, rolling his eyes. Castiel was suddenly sent crashing back to three centuries ago and the last moment he spent with these brave hunters. They were exactly how he remembered. How he sheared into his memory.

"Ignore him." Castiel wanted to say it was OK, better than OK actually. He missed the banter, missed them. That still, after all this time, he could not put into words how much they mean to him, nor how two humans could mean so much in the first place. He wasn't sure even enochian had the words to describe it. Sam carried on before he could put his thoughts in order. "Dean touched a cursed item and we got sent here."

"Hey!" Dean complained at his brothers most likely true explanation, and was ignored. Cas nodded, at least it was not an angel.

"I heard your prayers, I came as soon as I could." Both Winchesters looked vaguely embarrassed by them. Cas studied them, cocking his head to the side, he realised they hadn't told each other they were still praying to him. Dean coughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So how did you survive the whole leviathan black goo explosion?"

"My Father?" Two hundred years ago that would of not been a question but a statement, now even the angels were questioning if their Father cared, many given up on him. Dean snorted.

"Right. Well if you see him, tell him I'm still pissed." He glared to the ceiling as he said it, like his Father would be able to feel his wraith.

"I believe He already knows that."

"Can you zap us back?" Sam asked, eagerly. Cas closed his eyes from the guilt. Another time to let the youngest Winchester down.

"I can't." When he opened his eyes again Sam's eyes only held concern, none of the anger he deserved. Dean was angry, but Castiel could easily see the worry clawing at him too.

"What do you mean you can't?" He snapped.

"Heaven is at war with itself. My grace is... diminished. I do not have enough power to take you home."

"How about a soul power up?" Dean asked, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "As cool as the future is, we've got leviathans to fight."

It pained him to shake his head. "I'm sorry."

"Goddamnit!"

Sam gave him a smile that couldn't quite hide the disappointment in his voice. "It's fine. We're still working on the watch."

Why did he come, if only to bring them bad news? In his head he heard Hannah call for him, their front line had been broken, the enemy swarming their base. He was needed in heaven, but he couldn't leave just yet. Not while his friends were stuck here and he was drowning in guilt. His eyes found Sam

"I'm sorry." He put everything he felt in it. Not just apologising for being unable to get them home, but for breaking him. He felt everything Sam was going through. The trauma turning him, an angel of the Lord, insane. He didn't deserve their friendship. And yet they kept giving it. Even now, when the wounds of the injuries he inflicted was still bleeding, Sam shook his head.

"It's fine Cas. I forgive you." Looking at the Winchesters he thinks he understands why humanity was always his Father's favourite creation. Dean stepped forward, lowering his voice like everyone in the room couldn't hear him perfectly.

"What about Sam? Can you fix him?" Sam's jaw locked, and he glared at Dean but there was hope there as well. Another disappointment. 

"I'm sorry." And that's all he can do. Apologise. In his head, Hannah screamed at him to come. "Find a faith healer with the name of Emmanuel. He can help Sam. I need to go."

Dean frowned at him, ready to complain, but the doctor spoke before he could. "You're not going anywhere until I know there's been no long term affects from your injury."

"Humans, so full of compassion." He said, looking into her steady gaze. He would not doubt for a second that she would tie him onto the bed, but she never got the chance.

He stretched out his wings, and with one last glance at the Winchesters he flew towards Hannah's cries of help, confident in the knowledge he will see them again soon.

*

The Winchester were scary. Not that Ensign Wesley Crusher would tell anyone he thought so. He was in the crew of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ , pips and all, he should not be terrified of two humans.

As he worked on their problem - involving magic which he still wasn't convinced on, no matter how many 'lore' books Data accessed and theories Geordi came up with about opening doorways to other dimensions where the laws of physics were different - he watched them wearily.

Dean was talking to Worf about their best battles, a truce forming between them since the klingon clocked out an 'angel' - and he looked at the data his mom collected on him and it didn't look like anything he'd ever seen but an angel, c'mon that was just plain stupid. Still it was better than the two of them growling at each other as they had been a day ago. Two grown men itching for a fight was distracting when one was trying to work. Will had told him to stay away from Dean, and Wesley was happy to comply to the best of his ability.

Sam was even more terrifying than his brother, but what was worse was nobody seemed to see it. He would flinch at nothing, trail off in the middle of sentences, look at things that weren't there. Dean would keep one eye at him at all times when they were together like Sam might snap any minute. But the rest of the crew seemed to think he was just some geeky kid who couldn't hurt a fly.

His dislike for Sam had nothing to do with the amount of time the man spent with his mother. It's just - they had lunch together today. In Ten Forward of course, and she would insist it was just to talk about medication, but Wes sees how she glances at him when she thinks nobody's looking. He just didn't understand why she would want to spend time with a 6"5 freak from the past even if he was 'kind' and 'funny' and 'nice'. He wouldn't miss them when they go back one bit.

Wes tore his eyes away from the brothers, picking up the pocket watch again. Every test they had run was a bust. They had found the funky energy Geordi detected, and every time someone picked the watch up and pressed the button their scanners lit up like mad, but so far they could do nothing with it.

It was driving Wes insane.

"What I don't understand," he said, slowly, holding the watch so the non-burnt parts glinted gold in the light, the continuous _tick-tick-tick_ a steady heart beat to the last two days, "Is why someone would build a time machine that couldn't take you back."

Dean snorted, leaning back in his chair. Wes found himself frozen under his dismissive glance. "Kid, it's a cursed object, there's nothing logical about it."

Sam's head shot up from the PADD he was reading, eyebrows pulled together. Immediately Dean's attention was on him, like the rest of the room stopped existing.

"You OK?" He asked softly, earning himself a scowl from his brother.

"Of course I am dude. It's just, Dean, what if he's right?

"It's a cursed object." He insisted, but Sam shook his head, gears already turning.

"It might not be. Maybe we've been looking at this all wrong." He smiled at Wes, the same type all the adults gave him on the ship that said _good job_. Usually he would lap up the praise, but from Sam all he could do was stare back.

"Look, Sammy, just because you've got the hots for the kid's mother doesn't mean you have to listen to his crap ideas." Wes really wished they stopped mentioning it. Over the last two days he had to live through more MILF and cougar jokes than he ever wanted to. The Winchesters were making it hard to like them.

"Bite me." Sam sniped back without missing a beat.

"Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam continued like there hadn't been an interruption and his cheeks were not stained a bright pink. "Think about it - it's hardly a normal cursed object. We haven't died yet."

"Maybe we got lucky." Dean shrugged. His brother snorted.

"When have we ever 'got lucky'? What if it is a time machine?"

Wes held it up. "It has years on it." His voice did not come out higher than usual. Not at all.

Sam nodded, turning to Data. "When did we come through?"

"Stardate four-four  - " He began, but Sam shook his head, cutting him off, his voice slightly impatient.   

"No. The normal date."

Data cocked his head to the side, brain converting the data faster than any human ever could. "April the 19th, 2367."

Sam looked at his brother expectantly, who just looked blank. "It could of been on it. I wasn't really looking at it."

Sam snorted something which sounded like "of course you weren't" before taking the watch of Wesley. He peered at it for a second, before he began to spin backwards the watch. In his giant hands it looked like he could crush it to dust by accident.

"This is going to take forever." He complained.

"I can do it in thirty nine minutes." Data informed, and Sam quickly passed it over.

"Have fun." Geordi joked. Data cocked his head at his best friend.

"Geordi, you know I am an android. I do not 'have fun'."

Thirty nine minutes later, Data had finished winding the watch back. Dean had spent the time pacing up and down, ignoring everyone's complaints for him to sit down. The captain had come in when he heard the news that they might be going home, and Wesley couldn't help but think the man looked rather eager. His mom, too, popped by, talking to Sam for a while. When she left his cheeks were bright pink, but thankfully she hadn't done something totally gross like kissed him. As they waited Gerodi and him had set up the equipment to monitor the jump from this end.

Dean grinned at the watch triumphantly as it was handed to him.

"Hey Sam, try not to faint this time. I can't wait to burn this thing." Sam rolled his eyes, Data however held up his hand to stop him.

"You cannot destroy the watch." Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Hell yes I can. Destroying evil is what I do best."

"I wouldn't call the watch evil." Geordi said under his breath, and Wes snorted, but they were ignored by the arguing duo.

"If you destroy the watch you will not be able to travel to the future."

"I'm sorry if you want to stay in touch, but I'm just not into you."

Data cocked his head to the side again, doing his equivalent of frowning as he tried to work out the man's words. He gave up. "If you destroy the watch you will be unable to travel to this point in the time stream meaning you will not need to destroy the watch."

"A paradox." Sam said, nodding.

Dean scowled. "And?"

"It could have unforeseen effects on the timeline."

"Screw the timeline." He grumbled.

"Remember Fate?" Sam reminded him, and Dean shivered.

"OK, OK. No destroying the watch. But I'm sticking it in a curse box and burying it. And you better burn it when we're gone." He warned. Data opened his mouth, before thinking better of it and nodding.

"OK, let's go home." Dean ordered, but as his brother came closer he muttered "I'm burning the watch."Ignoring his brother's eye roll, they both touched it and Dean pressed down the button at the top. The air seemed to crackle with something, the tricorders going wild, and the room filled with a blinding white light.

When they could see again, the Winchesters were gone.

*

The market place was crowded, people yelling, crashing into each other, haggling. The hot air pressed down and the swell of bodies were near unbearable. Geordi couldn't wait to get to the beach and deep his feet into the cool sea. He could already taste the salt on his tongue, feel the roughness of sand beneath his toes. Unfortunately for him, Data had stopped.

Again.

This time the store owner was trying to sell Data a badly burnt watch. He looked human, standing out against the brightly coloured natives with his messy hair and five o'clock shadow, his clothes rumpled and stained saying he was down on his luck. Geordi wasn't surprised looking at the store - most of what he was selling was books, from The Holy Bible to what looked like a set of crappy slasher novels  called _The Winchester Gospels_ , all of them in Standard, which was make more sense if they were not thirty light years from Earth and the civilisation didn't have a writing form.

"C'mon Data, let's _go_." Geordi complained, doing his best not to sound like a whiney child but this was the fifth time they stopped in that many minutes.

Both Data and the seller ignored him, carrying on their conversation. "This pocket watch is from eighteenth century Earth."

Data took a look at it, carefully opening and closing it in his hands. "Incorrect, it is of twentieth century design, though you are correct about it being from Earth."

The man did not seemed at all bothered by being caught out in his bold face lie. "You have a good eye. It will still fit in nicely in your collection."

"I do not have a collection." Behind his VISOR, Geordi rolled his eyes.

"Even better! Start one! The stories this could write!" The seller was obviously desperate.

" _Data_." Geordi tried again.

"I will buy it." Data was a sucker for Earth goods, and Geordi wasn't going to complain this  time if it meant they could finally get to the sea. A price was quickly settled, and soon Data was the proud owner of a broken watch. As they left the store, Geordi put an arm around his best friend's shoulders.

"We were meant to meet Riker almost half an hour ago." He complained as he pulled him away, only getting a couple more steps before something else caught the androids eye, and Geordi sighed. He turned, looking back at the human seller, who was now leant back in his seat, now ignoring the bustling crowds, a pen in his hand. He smiled at Geordi.

"This is going to be a good one." Chuck said.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes (in order of appearance in the story):  
> I want to apologise if Eutaw, Alabama is not, in fact, near the sea, it looked a fair distance away on Google maps, but people who live in big countries measure distances different from people who live in tiny countries.  
> Sector 25712 is in the Alpha quadrant and holds Starbase 12 and Ceti Alpha V.  
> The new Vulcan security chief is, of course, Tuvok from Voyager.  
> I imagine Sam is the kind of guy to carry around an anti possession charm even though he has the tat, and I like to think they are both carrying around the Impala keys even though she's on lockdown.  
> Spot being a shifter is reference to the fact it starts as a male Somali cat, changes to an Abyssinian cat then a tabby cat, before changing its gender to female and having kittens.  
> The Eugenics War obviously doesn't happen in Supernatural canon, but I couldn't not poke it with a stick. In this mash of universes I like to think Khan and his colleagues are Special Children and genetically engineered, and Azazel couldn't control them and instead gets his demons to over throw them, and I may write that story one day. I let Worf win a fight, which is all the proof you need that I'm bending canon to my will.  
> And lastly the Sam/Beverly thing was a complete accident that I have no regrets about.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
